


External Temperature Below Advised Range for Departure (Baby, It's Cold Outside)

by AwkwardTiming



Series: Christmas Album [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (it doesn't last long), (sort of), Baby It's Cold Outside, Blow Jobs, Christmas songs, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, also some smut, handjob, holiday nonsense, laughing, too much punch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardTiming/pseuds/AwkwardTiming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's just returned home and is alone for the holiday. Mike drags him along to a party where Sherlock convinces him, subtly, to stay for just another drink. Because it's awfully cold out, don't you think?</p>
            </blockquote>





	External Temperature Below Advised Range for Departure (Baby, It's Cold Outside)

John knew it was leading up to this, had known it since they sat down in the small coffee shop.

“So what are your plans tonight?” Mike asked, all open friendliness.

“Tonight? Nothing in particular.”

“Oh? You’re not heading back home for Christmas?”

“Ah, no. Harry sold the house when mum died a couple years ago.”

“Oh. But you’ll see Harry and – what was her wife’s name? – tomorrow, yeah?”

“No, they’re in Madrid for the holiday.”

“Party with friends?”

It was all John could do not to huff in exasperation. “No. I’ve only been back a week. Besides, who’d want to invite me to a holiday party?”

John was surprised when Mike laughed. “It’s funny. I’ve this friend. We were talking earlier. He’s been talked into hosting a party and was lamenting that the guests would be primarily Molly’s – the person who talked him into the party. You should come.”

Mike, for all his occasional awkwardness was generally very good on social norms, which is the only reason that John even considered it. “Wouldn’t it be a bit odd to show up at the party of someone I don’t know?”

“With Sherlock? No. He probably won’t think anything of it.” There seemed to be something Mike wasn’t saying, but John didn’t push. “You could come with my wife and I. I’ll let Sherlock know we’re bringing a friend along.”

For the sake of not being a sad-sack hanging around his dreary bedsit for yet another night – and Christmas Eve at that – John nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Where should I meet you?”

“Tell you what. I was going to drive, so just give me your address and we’ll pick you up. He’s in Baker Street. Party starts at 8. We’ll see you around, say, 7:30?”

\--------------

Sherlock prodded the bit of tissue again, thoroughly ignoring the sounds of Molly and Mrs. Hudson setting up around him. 

“Sherlock. Sherlock.” He felt a sharp jab in bicep and looked up. “Sherlock,” Molly glared, “I did not bring that to you for you to mess around with DURING the party.”

“The party has not yet started.”

“People will be here any minute. They’ll want to greet their host. And you did promise, Sherlock. You’ll be nice?”

Sherlock ignored the question. He’d promised and he would stick to it. “The host may as well be you. They are your friends.”

“You have people coming, too. Mike. And Detective Lestrade, right?”

“Mike will be late, because he is always late and bringing someone, apparently.”

“His wife?”

“No, someone else. And his wife. I don’t think they travel separately to evening events. And Lestrade won’t be off until 8:30. So he will also be late. Anyone arriving before then will be here for you.”

“Must be a friend of his wife’s. What is her name, by the way? And, it’s still your house.”

“Irrelevant.” Whether he meant Mike Stamford’s wife’s name or it being his house, Molly didn’t know. Sherlock turned back to the dish only to find it had been moved while he argued with Molly. “Mrs. Hudson!” He shouted.

Molly patted his cheek. “Come on. Have a bit of punch with me?”

Sherlock wanted to argue, but there was something in her expression that reminded him of exactly why he’d agreed to have this party in the first place. He bit back a sigh and nodded. 

Molly ladled out three cups of a rum punch she’d mixed up and handed them out to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock took a cautious sip. It was surprisingly mild, despite what he knew to be the contents. He’d have to remember to avoid it as the evening wore on. 

“Sherlock, play something for me before people arrive?” Mrs. Hudson asked. 

Her smile was too eager and too genuine to be denied, so Sherlock moved to his violin and set his cup down. He tightened the strings of his bow and gave a quick stroke to check tone, then started in on Silent Night, one of Mrs. Hudson’s favorites. He suppressed the urge to return her smile, but felt his shoulders relax slightly.

It wasn’t exactly that he didn’t like people and certainly he preferred to have people come to him, but a group of people he didn’t know made this more… complicated. Maybe, though, he could sneak off. He’d had punch with Molly and played for Mrs. Hudson. Surely once everyone had arrived no one would notice his absence and he could sneak out his bedroom window and onto the – 

“Oh! Mike is here.” Molly said looking out the window.

Sherlock faltered slightly, but continued playing, nearing the end of the song. Mrs. Hudson would be disappointed if he stopped before it finished and would request another later. Better to finish now. He heard Molly greet the guests and offer them drinks. With a final flourish, he finished the song and turned. 

“Incredible,” breathed a man Sherlock didn’t recognize. Before he could stop himself, Sherlock took in the close cropped hair (military), the clothes that were too big (recent illness, likely recovering from injury), the tan that stopped at shirt collar and cuffs (abroad – Middle East likely), the cane. He frowned. 

And cursed himself when the man ceased to look at him with admiration and became, instead, clearly uncomfortable. 

Mike glanced between the two and with a warm smile said, “Sherlock, this is the friend I mentioned. John Watson. We were in school together.”

“Dr. Watson. Or do you prefer Captain?”

“I – John, actually. Just John. How did you?”

Sherlock attempted a smile, but based on Molly’s expression he failed. “Haircut, tan, clothes that are slightly too big. You’ve returned from military service abroad, injured, clearly. Not your leg, though, despite the cane. Military, but too old to just be a lieutenant, not a major though.” Suddenly aware that everyone was staring – Molly and Mrs. Hudson in dismay – Sherlock tried for a smile again and turned away to put his violin back in his case. “Molly will get you a drink. Please sit … somewhere.”

He grabbed the case and took it and his violin back toward his room, ignoring Molly’s noise of protest. He just needed a moment and it would be fine. He’d promised he wouldn’t do that. He let the ritual of putting away his violin calm him and made his way back to the sitting room, picking up his punch and refilling it on the way.

More guests had arrived, lending an air of jovial warmth to the proceedings. Sherlock stuck to the edge of the room and went to stand by the window and watched people greeted each other and struck up conversations. He felt himself start to relax again. He watched as Lestrade arrived and greeted first Mrs. Hudson then Molly. He made eye contact with the man who gave him a surprisingly warm smile. Sherlock returned it.

Lost in thought, he missed that John had moved to his side. “So, you do smile properly then.”

Startled, Sherlock looked at the other man. 

John smiled up at him. “What you did earlier? That was incredible. How’d you know? I thought Mike said he’d just told you he was bringing and extra person along.”

“He… did.”

“So you could just guess?”

“I never guess.”

John gave a sort of laugh. “Right. Course. Well, it was incredible. Thank you, by the way, for letting me tag along with Stamford.”

Sherlock nodded, still slightly off kilter, used to a very different sort of response. “What makes a medical professional decide to go off to get shot at?” The words were out of his mouth before he considered them. He caught Molly's glare. Evidently she’d heard them.

But John just laughed. “Ah,” he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Ehm. It was… it seemed like a good idea at the time?” Sherlock frowned and John sighed. “My da had died. My mum was…”

“Upset?”

“Dating someone new. My sister was a mess and I sort of ran away and joined the army. I’d been in private practice already for a couple years. The recruiting office was thrilled to have me.”

“And then?”

“And then I deployed and two months after making captain, got shot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Me too, a bit. As it turns out, I love a bit of adventure. Little of that in London. Certainly not for an army doctor who can’t even do his job now. Christ. Sorry. Shouldn’t whinge at you. Just meant to come over and say thanks, in person, for letting me come. Mike was horrified that I’d be spending all of the holiday alone. I’ll let you get back to your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Molly, I think Mike said her name was. The party was her idea, from what he said earlier.”

“Oh. Yes. It was her idea. But she is not my girlfriend.”

“Oh. Right. Just didn’t see a ring. Wife, then.”

“No.”

“Oh. Um.”

John looked like he felt himself decidedly wrong-footed again, so Sherlock found himself explaining, “Women are… not really my area. She is a friend. I owed her a favor and my landlady was thrilled to help.” Sherlock looked up to see Lestrade miming “drink?” and nodded.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” John’s eyes darted to Lestrade when he saw Sherlock nod. 

Sherlock looked back at John. “Did you need a drink?”

“Ehm. Sure. That would be lovely. Yeah.”

Sherlock indicated to Lestrade that he should bring two and Lestrade smiled and shook his head but poured a third glass before making his way to them.

He handed John then Sherlock their cups and looked to Sherlock for an introduction. When John became aware that none was forthcoming – Sherlock having been distracted by the sight of someone stepping slightly too close to where he had a mold experiment hiding behind the sofa – he offered his hand and introduced himself. 

“Greg. Known Sherlock long then? Or are you a friend of Molly’s? I think Sherlock said almost everyone here would be.”

“Uh, about 30 minutes and no to Molly. Mike Stamford brought me? How do you know Sherlock then?”

“Met on a crime scene, actually. I work for NSY. He showed up, spouting some nonsense about a ladder and I sent him away. Except, of course, he turned out to be right and I had to track him down to finish connecting the dots.”

John and Lestrade both turned to Sherlock, expecting some sort of input only to find he’d moved away without either of them being aware. Lestrade looked for him and when he saw Sherlock not-so-subtly shifting something under the couch, he shook his head with a fond smile, then looked back at John. “I can’t believe he agreed to this,” Lestrade said with a grin, shaking his head.

They fell into conversation about sport, Lestrade thrilled to find someone who followed at all, even if John wasn’t quite up on all the same teams. Eventually John moved to sit and Lestrade went to talk to other guests. John made idle conversation with a couple other guests. Holiday plans, the weather. Eventually he realized it was getting a bit late. Mike had said they were planning to leave by 9:30 and it was nearing 10. He stood to look for his friend and was met by Sherlock as he made his way toward the kitchen.

“Hey. Have you seen Mike?” John asked.

“He left about 30 minutes ago. Why?”

“Bugger. He was my ride.”

“Oh.”

“There’s a tube station not far, though, yeah?”

“Well, yes. But it’s quite cold and there’s a bit of ice. Lestrade will take you.”

“I wouldn’t want to…” but Sherlock was wandering away. 

But not to Lestrade. John shrugged, letting himself get distracted by the warming dish of meatballs that Mrs. Hudson was refilling. “These are lovely,” he said.

“Thank you, dear. They’re Sherlock’s favorite.”

“You’re his landlady, I understand.”

“Oh, yes. I got this house after my husband died. Sherlock was such a help with all that. And he was looking for a place. Really ideal honestly. He needs a roommate, of course. I thought maybe Lestrade, after his relationship ended, but apparently not. Or not yet at any rate. Fancy one of these little tomato things Molly brought?” She held a plate out to him.

“Ta,” he said, taking one and popping it in his mouth.

“Of course, dear. Have a lovely rest of the party.”

“Oh, are you leaving?”

“It’s a bit late for someone at my age. And besides, it’s time for my evening soother,” she winked and John choked.

“Right,” he said to himself, watching her make her way through the sitting room and out the door, stopping to pat Sherlock’s cheek goodbye. Grabbing a cookie, he made his way back to the sitting room, looking around for Greg, who he caught ushering Molly out the door. Hampered by the cane and the small group of people between him and the door, John sighed. Looked like it would be the tube after all. Or a cab. Bloody expensive, but better than walking, he supposed.

Sherlock wandered over. “Oh, John. Hi.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks were flushed and John found himself a bit charmed. “Hi.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Sherlock leaned his head against the door way.

“I was just thinking I should go, actually. I saw Greg leave with Molly and I’m sure he won’t want to run another person home when he gets back.”

“Why would he come back?”

“He said he would see you later?” 

Sherlock paused to consider that. “Oh. Yes. He did, but he won’t be back tonight. I imagine he’ll either return to his flat or stay with Molly. She seemed keen.”

“Oh. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Sherlock tilted his head. “Why would it bother me?”

John wondered if he’d misunderstood what Mrs. Hudson had said. “Never mind. Anyway. I really should go.” He glanced out the window and shivered a bit. 

“You’re cold. You should warm up before you go. The fire’s warm, if you go sit by it.”

“I …”

“Let me get you another drink.”

John sighed and shook his head, then made his way to the comfortable looking red chair near the fire. As he sunk into the soft depths, he felt his tired muscles start to relax. Another drink was the last thing he needed, but he found himself thanking Sherlock anyway. Sherlock nodded and moved away.

Sherlock watched John sip at the punch. He wanted John to stay. Just a little longer, till everyone else had left. Just so that he could talk to him a bit more. He’d promised, though, as Molly and Lestrade left, not to rush the rest of the guests. Instead, he gathered abandoned plates and took them to the kitchen. 

The few remaining guests were chatting and Sherlock took himself to the chair opposite John’s in front of the fireplace.

“I really should go,” John said, again. “I’m sure my sister will wonder where I’ve got off to.”

“I thought you were going to be alone this evening.”

“Well, yes. She said she might call, though.”

“You have a mobile.”

“Right.” John fished in his pocket and pulled out the phone. No missed calls. 

“You can stretch your legs out, if you like.” Sherlock shifted his chair closer and made room for John’s feet.

John let his head tilt back to rest on the back of the chair. The warmth of the fireplace and the punch, which had seemed fairly innocuous earlier but seemed to be robbing him of his better judgement, prompted him to seek further comfort. He slid his feet alongside Sherlock’s thigh with a half murmured, “You sure?”

“Why medicine?” Sherlock rumbled. John looked relaxed, which would hopefully mean he’d stay a bit longer – until others had left. But that would be absolutely useless if he was asleep.

John smiled and snuggled into the chair, but started talking, relating a story about a childhood friend and his own stubborn desire to prove his parents wrong. Opening his eyes, he met Sherlock’s. “I should call a cab.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. No cabs to be had.”

“Right. Well, maybe someone else…” John trailed off as he realized he and Sherlock were the only two left. “Huh. Didn’t even notice. I can get out of your hair.” John moved his feet and leaned forward to take Sherlock’s hand. “Thanks again.”

Sherlock stared at where their fingers met, heat blooming in his cheeks. His fingers tightened around John’s. “Another drink maybe?”

“I should go, really.”

“Just a half? You could put on a record. There’s…there’s a record player. By the window. I could call for a cab?”

John gave a half smile and nodded. “Yeah. Alright. Just a bit though.” He hefted himself to his feet and made his way to the record player, pulling out what promised to be instrumental holiday music and moved to sit on the couch. As lovely as the chair by the fireplace was, the warmth was too tempting and he’d need to be at least half awake to have any hope of making it home.

“I heard you playing earlier. You’re quite good.” Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement and held the cup, very much more than half full, out for John to take. As he took the cup, John said, “People will talk, the uninvited guest staying after the party’s ended.”

“People do little else.” Sherlock frowned down at John. “Will it bother you?”

“No, not really.” Sherlock saw him hesitate, then, “Will your boyfriend mind?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Greg?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, Lestrade won’t mind.”

John nodded, but looked confused.

“I mean. No, he’s not my boyfriend. But also, he won’t mind.”

“Right. Ok.”

“Your eyes are a very interesting shade of blue. I read a study that said that blue eyes are more susceptible to light. Did you find they caused trouble in the desert?”

Despite himself, John was charmed and grinned, leaning back into the couch as Sherlock perched next to him. “Not particularly, no. But mine are fairly dark, yeah? Had a friend. Her eyes were more like yours, without the bits of green, and she used to complain about it all the time.”

“Do you mind if I –” Sherlock indicated the cushion next to John.

“It’s your couch,” John replied. “So you’re single, then?”

Sherlock hummed an affirmative.

“Like me.”

Sherlock turned his head and John’s eyes went to his lips. Sherlock wondered if John was as curious about what it would be like to kiss as he was. John’s lips were delightfully pink, as was the tongue that poked out to lick his lower lip.

“I should go,” John murmured again, moving slightly closer. 

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. “Stay.”

“People will talk tomorrow,” John said as he bumped his nose against Sherlock’s.

“I’d hate for you to get sick.” Sherlock removed John’s empty cup from his hand and set it on the table without moving away. “Terrible if you died of pneumonia after recovering from a bullet,” he said, his lips a breath away from John’s

“Or at least they’ll imply…”

“But it’s cold outside.” With that, Sherlock closed the distance between them and John met the kiss with a smile.

Whether it was the time spent in front of the fire or the surprisingly potent punch, John found himself truly warm for the first time since returning from the desert. He shifted around, one hand coming up to cup the back of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock’s hand slid under the back of his jumper and John startled, pulling away. “Your hands are like ice.”

Sherlock ducked his head, attaching his lips to John’s throat before muttering, “I’ll just warm them up, then,” and shifting them more fully under the thick knit and tugging John closer.

“Christ that’s lovely,” John said, rolling his head around to capture Sherlock’s lips again. 

At some point, Sherlock’s hands warmed and John lost jumper and vest and Sherlock’s red shirt was unbuttoned and hanging loose around his torso.

Giving Sherlock’s lower lip a quick nip, John pulled his head back. “Terribly forward of me to ask to see your bed?”

Sherlock’s grin was just barely on the innocent side of wolfish as he tugged John up from the couch and tugged him down the hall.

John pressed himself against Sherlock’s back as they crossed the threshold, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder blade, his fingers working the button and zipper of Sherlock’s trousers. “Alright?” he asked as his fingers dragged across the ridge of Sherlock’s erection.

Sherlock responded by spinning and pressing John against the wall next to the doorframe. He nipped at John’s ear. With a smile that was more eager than seductive, Sherlock flipped open John’s jeans and sunk to his knees. John wasn’t sure that he’d been hoping for anything for Christmas beyond not being in a hospital at the ass end of nowhere, but if he had been, this would have been far better than even the best of possibilities he could have imagined.

Sherlock’s face looked a little like he was praying as he nuzzled John’s hip and slid jeans and pants down John’s legs. He tapped John’s ankle and John lifted first one foot then the other and in short order, John was standing stark naked with Sherlock knelt in front of him. It was suddenly too much for him to watch and John let his head hit the wall. He felt Sherlock smile against his skin a moment before his erection was encased in delicious warmth, mobile tongue, tracing the vein on the underside, hands pulling his hips away from the wall and closer to the absolutely sinful mouth.

His hands flexed at his sides, desperate to hold the curls in front of him, but equally desperate to not be rude – to behave such that this might, if he was very lucky, happen again some time. After a delightful swirl of tongue around the head, Sherlock pulled off. “You can touch,” he said, his voice a bit rough. 

John looked down, sliding his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, earning him a groan and a smile. John gasped, then, as he hit the back of Sherlock’s throat, and willed himself not to come on the spot. He wanted to remember every part of this, for those lonely nights, but everything he had was taken up with the feel of Sherlock’s mouth on him, the feel of his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, and the sounds Sherlock was making as he gave what was, in John’s estimation, the best blowjob of his life.

“Going to… Sherlock!” John gasped.

Sherlock looked up and hummed, one finger gentle stroking John’s perineum, his tongue undulating slightly and John was lost. He came with a groan, remaining upright only by virtue of Sherlock’s hands on his arse, Sherlock’s breath fast and heavy as Sherlock’s head rested on his hip.

Once he caught his breath, he tugged Sherlock up and with a grin that had earned him a well-deserved reputation first at University then in his unit, he turned the other man and had him flopped across the bed, without his trousers, in two quick moves.

He intended to explore a bit first, before getting down to business, give them both a chance to catch their breath, but Sherlock jerked the moment John’s hand slid up his erection, his back arching as he came on the downstroke.

John bit his lower lip, aware that laughing would not be an appropriate reaction. He glanced up to find Sherlock’s eyes closed, his cheeks red. As Sherlock panted next to him, John nipped his shoulder and kissed the underside of his jaw. He felt Sherlock huff and looked up.

Sherlock was staring at the ceiling. “That was ridiculous.”

John opened his mouth to disagree, but when his eyes met Sherlock, he had to hastily suppress a chuckle instead. John felt the rumble of a laugh a moment before Sherlock started, John quickly giving in and joining him. “Ridiculously sexy,” John said with a wink as their laughing slowed, which served to set them off again.

When they stopped again, Sherlock kissed him and levered himself off the bed. “Let me just… I’ll be right back.”

John heard the faucet and wondered if he ought to gather up his clothes and maybe try to find that taxi after all.

“No,” Sherlock said, reentering the room and tossing a damp flannel at John. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He crawled over John and lay back against the pillows. 

John finished tidying himself up and shifted up as well, tugging the blankets at the end of the bed up and putting his hands behind his head as he lay flat on his back. Sherlock slid closer and shifted down, his head coming to rest on John’s shoulder.

“Do you mind?” Sherlock said. “It’s cold.”

John huffed out a half-laugh and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulder to pull him closer. He fell asleep with a smile still on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I respond to notes and each and every one may be said to make my day. I also appreciate the pointing out of spelling errors.
> 
> 2) I can be found on tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awkwardtiming) or at awkwardtiming@gmail.com. Feel free to seek me out there if leaving notes here isn't your think but you want to tell me something.
> 
> 3) Thank you for reading!!
> 
> 4) PS: solo violin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5dUrfwEXZ8


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